Chap. vi.: IS SO SHORT AND SO PRAYERFUL THAT SIMPLICISSIMUS THEREUPON SWOONS AWAY

But hardly had I composed myself to sleep when I heard a voice that cried aloud, “O wondrous love towards us thankless mortals! O mine comfort, my hope, my riches, my God!” and more of the same sort, all of which I could not hear or understand. Yet these were surely words which should rightly have cheered, comforted, and delighted every Christian soul that should find itself in such a plight as I did. But O simplicity! O ignorance! ’Twas all gibberish* to me, and all in an unknown tongue out of which I could make nothing: yea, was rather terrified by its strangeness. Yet when I heard how the hunger and thirst of him that spake should be satisfied, my unbearable hunger did counsel me to join myself to him as a guest. So I plucked heart to come out of my hollow tree and to draw nigh to the voice I had heard, where I was ware of a tall man with long grayish hair which fell in confusion over his shoulders: a tangled beard he had shapen like to a Swiss cheese; his face yellow and thin yet kindly enough, and his long gown made up of more than a thousand pieces of cloth of all sorts sewn together one upon another. Round his neck and body he had wound a heavy iron chain like St. William,* and in other ways seemed in mine eyes so grisly and terrible that I began to shake like a wet dog. But what made my fear greater was the he did hug to his breast a crucifix some six spans long. So I could fancy nought else but that this old grey man must be the wolf of whom my dad had of late told me: and in my fear I whipped out my bagpipe, which, as mine only treasure, I had saved from the troopers, and blowing up the sack, tuned up and made a mighty noise to drive away that same grisly wolf: at which sudden and unaccustomed music in that lonely place the hermit at first no little dismayed, deeming, without doubt, ’twas the devil come to terrify him and so disturb his prayers, as happened to the great St. Anthony. But presently recovering himself, he mocked at me as his tempter in the hollow tree, whiter I had retired myself: nay, plucked up such heart that he advanced upon me to defy the enemy of mankind.

“Aha!” says he, “thou art a proper fellow enough, to tempt saints without God’s leave”: and more than that I heard not: for his approach caused in me such fear and trembling that I lost my senses and fell forthwith into a swoon.

Chap. vii.: HOW SIMPLICISSIMUS WAS IN A POOR LODGING KINDLY ENTREATED

 After what manner I was helped to myself again I know not; only this, that the old man had my head on his breast and my jacket open in front, when I came to my senses. But when I saw the hermit so close to me I raised such a hideous outcry as if he would have torn the heart out of my body. The said he, “My son, hold thy peace: be content: I do thee no harm.” Yet the more he comforted me and soothed me the more I cried, “Oh, thou eatest me! Oh! Thou eatest me: thou art the wolf and wilt eat me.” “Nay, nay,” said he, “my son, be at peace: I eat thee not.”
 This contention lasted long, till at length I let myself so far be persuaded as to go into his hut with him, wherein was poverty the housekeeper, hunger the cook, and want clerk of the kitchen: there was my belly cheered with herbs and a draught of water, and my mind, which was altogether distraught, again brought to right reason by the old man’s comfortable kindness. Thereafter then I easily allowed myself to be enticed by the charm of sweet slumber to pay my debt to nature. Now when the hermit perceived my need of sleep he left me to occupy my place in his hut alone: for one only could lie therein. So about midnight I awoke again and heard him sing the song which followeth here, which I afterwards did learn by heart.

  “Come, joy of night, O nightingale:
  Take up, take up they cheerful tale:
  Sing sweet and loud and long.
  Come praise thine own Creator blest,
  When other birds are gone to rest,
  And now have used their song.

       (Chorus)    With thy voice loud rejoice;
              For so thou best canst shew they love
              To God who reigns in heaven above.

  For though the light of day be flown,
  And we in darkness dwell alone,
  Yet can we chant and sing
  Of God his power and God his might:
  Nor darkness hinders us nor night
  Our praises so to bring.
  Echo the wanderer makes reply
  And when though singst will still be by
  And still repeat thy strain.
  All weariness she drives afar
  And sloth to which we prisoners are,
  And mocks at slumber’s chain.
  The stars that stand in heaven above,
  Do shew to God their praise and love
  And honour to Him bring;
  And owls by nature reft of song
  Yet shew with cries the whole night long
  Their love to God the king.
  Come hither then, sweet bird of night,
  For we will share no sluggard’s plight
  Nor sleep away the hours;
  But, till the rosy break of day
  Chase from these woods the night away,
  God’s praise shall still be ours.”

 Now while this song did last it seemed to me as if nightingale, owl, and echo had of a truth joined therein, and had I ever heard the morning star or had been able to play its melody on my bagpipe, I had surely run out of the hut to take my trick also, so sweet did this harmony seem to me: yet I fell asleep again and woke not till day was far advanced, when the hermit stood before me and said, “Up, child, I will give thee to eat and thereafter shew thee the way through the wood, so that though comest to where people dwell, and also before night to the nearest village.”

So I asked him, what be these things, “people” and “village”?
 “What,” says he, “hast never been in any village and knowest not what people or folks be?”
 “Nay,” said I, “nowhere save here have I been: yet tell me what be these things, folk and people and village.”
 “God save us,” answered the hermit, “art thou demented or very cunning?”
 “Nay,” said I, “I am my mammy’s and dad’s boy, and neither Master Demented nor Master Cunning.”
 Then the hermit shewed his amazement with sighs and crossing of himself, and says he, “ ’Tis well, dear child, I am determined if God will better to instruct thee.”
 So then our questions and answers fell out as the ensuing chapter sheweth.

Chap. viii.: HOW SIMPLICISSIMUS BY HIS NOBLE DISCOURSE PROCLAIMED HIS EXCELLENT QUALITIES

 Hermit. What is they name?
 Simplicissimus: My name is “Lad.”
 H: I can see well enough that thou art no girl: but how did thy father and mother call thee?
 S: I never had either father or mother.
 H: Who gave thee then thy shirt?
 S: Oho! Why, my mammy.
 H: What did they mother call thee?
 S: She called me “Lad,” ay, and “rogue, silly gaby, and gallowsbird.”
 H: Who, then, was thy mammy’s husband?
 S: No one.
 H: With whom, then, did thy mammy sleep at night?
 S: With my dad.
 H: What did thy dad call thee?
 S: He called me “Lad.”
 H: What was his name?
 S: His name was Dad.
 H: What did thy mammy call him?
 S: Dad, and sometimes also “Master.”
 H: Did she never call him aught besides?
 S: Yea, that she did.
 H: And what then?
 S: “Beast” “coarse brute,” “drunken pig,” and other the like, when she would scold him.
 H: Thou beest but an ignorant creature, that knowest not thy parents’ name nor thine own.
 S: Oho! Neither dost thou know it.
 H: Canst thou say thy prayer?
 S: Nay, my mammy and our Ursel did uprear the beds.
 H: I ask thee not that, but whether thou knowest thy Paternoster¹?
 S: That do I.
 H: Say it then
 S: Our father which art in heaven, hallowed be name, to thy kingdom come, thy will come down on earth as it says in heaven, give us debts as we give our debtors: lead us not into no temptation, but deliver us from the kingdom, the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.
 H: God help us! Knowest thou naught of our Blessed Lord God?
 S: Yea, yea: ’tis he that stood by our chamber-door; my mammy brought him home from the church feast and stuck him up there.
 H: O Gracious God, now for the first time do I perceive what a great favour and benefit it is when Thou impartest knowledge of Thyself, and how naught a man is to whom Thou givest not! O Lord, vouchsafe to me so to honour Thy holy name that I be worthy to be as zealous in my thanks for this great grace as Thou hast been liberal in the granting of it. Hark now, Simplicissimus (for I can call thee by no other name), when thou sayest thy Paternoster, thou must say this: “Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name: Thy kingdom come: Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven: give us this day our daily bread…”
 S: Oho there! Ask for cheese too!
 H: Ah, dear child, keep silence and learn that thou needest more than cheese: thou art indeed loutish, as thy mammy told thee: ’tis not the part of lads like thee to interrupt an old man, but to be silent, to listen, and to learn. Did I but know where thy parent dwelt, I would fain bring thee to them, and then teach them how to bring up children.
 S: I know not whither to go. Our house is burnt, and my mammy ran off and was fetched back with out Ursula, and my dad too, and our maid was sick and lying in the stable.
 H: And who did burn the house?
 S: Aha! There came iron men that sat on things as big as oxen, yet having no horns: which same men did slaughter sheep and cows and swine, and so I ran too, and then was the house burnt.
 H: Where was thy dad then?
 S: Aha! The iron men tied him up and our old goat was set to lick his feet. So he must needs laugh, and give the iron men many silver pennies, big and little, and fair yellow things and some that glittered, and fine strings full of little white balls.
 H: And when did this come to pass?
 S: Why, even when I should have been keeping of sheep: yea, and they would even take from me my bagpipe.
 H: But when was it that thou shouldst have been keeping sheep?
 S: What, canst thou not hear? Even then when the iron men came: and then our Anna bade me run away, or the soldiers would carry me off: and by that she meant the iron men: so I ran off and so I came hither.
 H: And whither wilt thou now?
 S: Truly I know not: I will stay here with thee.
 H: Nay, to keep thee here is not to the purpose, either for me or thee. Eat now; and presently I will bring thee where people are.
 S: Oho! tell me now what manner of things be “people.”
 H: People be mankind like me and thee: thy dad, thy mammy, and your Ann be mankind, and when there be many together then are they called people: and now go thou and eat.
 So was our discourse, in which the hermit often gazed on me with deepest sighs: I know not whether ’twas so because he had great compassion on my simplicity and ignorance, or from that cause, which I learned not until some years later.

Chap. ix.: HOW SIMPLICISSIMUS WAS CHANGED FROM A WILD BEAST INTO A CHRISTIAN

 So I began to eat and ceased to prattle; all which lasted no longer than til I had appeased mine hunger: for then the good hermit bade me begone. Then I must seek out the most flattering words which my rough country upbringing afforded me, and all to this end, to move the hermit that he should keep me with him. Now though of a certainty it must have vexed him greatly to endure my troublesome presence, yet did he resolve to suffer me to be with him; and that more to instruct me in the Christian religion, than because he would have my service in his approaching old age: yet was this his greatest anxiety, lest my tender youth should not endure for long such a hard way of living as was his.

A space of some three weeks was my year of probation: in which three weeks St. Gertrude* was at war with the gardeners: so was it my lot to be inducted into the profession of these last: and therein I carried myself so well that the good hermit took an especial pleasure in me, and that not so much for my work’s sake (whereunto I was before well trained) but because he saw that I myself was as ready greedily to hearken to his instructions as the waxen, soft, and yet smooth tablet of my mind shewed itself ready to receive such. For such reasons he was more zealous to bring me to the knowledge of all good things. So he began his instruction from the fall of Lucifer: thence came he to the Garden of Eden, and when we were thrust out thence with out first parents, he passed through the law of Moses and taught me, by the means of the ten commandments and their explications—of which commandments he would say that they were a true measure to know the will of God, and thereby to lead a life holy and well pleasing to God—discern virtue from vice, to do the good and to avoid the evil. At the end of all he came to the Gospel and told me of Christ’s Birth, Sufferings, Death, and Resurrection: and then concluded all with the Judgment Day, and so set Heaven and hell before my eyes: and this all with befitting circumstance, yet not with superfluity of words, but as it seemed to him I could best comprehend and understand. So when he had ended one matter he began another, and therewithal contrived with all patience so to shape himself to answer my questions, and so to deal with me, that better he could not have shed the light of truth into my heart. Yet were his life and his speech for me an everlasting preaching: and this my mind, all wooden and dull as it was, yet by God’s grace left not fruitless. So that in three weeks did I not only understand all that a Christian should know, but was possessed with such love for this teaching that I could not sleep at night for thinking thereon.

I have since pondered much upon this matter and have found that Aristotle, in his second book “Of the Soul,”² did put it well, whereas he compared the soul of man to a blank unwritten tablet, whereon one could write what he would, and concluded that all such was decreed by the Creator of the world, in order that such blank tablets might by industrious impression and exercise be marked, and so be brought to completeness and perfection. And so saith also his commentator Averroes³  (upon that passage where the Philosopher saith that the Intellect is but a possibility which can be brought into activity by naught else than by Scientia or Knowledge: which is to say that man’s understanding is capable of all things, yet can be brought to such knowledge only by constant exercise), and giveth this plain decision: namely, that this knowledge or exercise is the perfecting of souls, which have no power at all in them selves. And this doth Cicero⁴ confirm in his second book and the “Tusculan Disputations,”⁵  when he compares the soul of a man without instruction, knowledge, and exercise, to a field which, albeit fruitful by nature, yet if no man till it or sow it will bring forth no fruit.

And all this did I prove by my own single example: for that I so soon understood all that the pious hermit shewed to me arose from this cause: that he found the smooth tablet of my soul quite empty and without any imaginings before entered thereupon, which might well have hindered the impress of others thereafter. Yet in spite of all, that pure simplicity (in comparison with other men’s ways) hath ever clung to me: and therefore did the hermit (for neither he nor I knew my right name) ever call me Simplicissimus. Withal I learned to pray, and when the good hermit had resolved himself to satisfy my earnest desire to abide with him, we built for me a hut like to his own, of wood, twigs and earth, shaped well nigh as the musqueteer shapes his tent in camp or, to speak more exactly, as the peasant in some places shapes his turnip-hod, so low, in truth, that I could hardly sit upright therein; my bed was of dried leaves and grass, and just so large as the hut itself, so that I know not whether to call such a dwelling-place or hole, a covered bedstead or hut.

Chap. x.: IN WHAT MANNER HE LEARNED TO READ AND WRITE IN THE WILD WOODS

 Now when first I saw the hermit read the Bible, I could not conceive with whom he should speak so secretly and, as I thought, so earnestly; for well I saw the moving of his lips, yet not man that spake with him: and though I knew naught of reading or writing, nevertheless I marked by his eyes that he had to do with somewhat in the said book. So I marked where he kept it, and when he had laid it aside I crept thither and opened it, and at the first assay lit upon the first chapter of Job and the picture that stood at the head thereof, which was a fine woodcut and fairly painted: so I began to ask strange questions of the figures, and when they gave me no answer waxed impatient, and even as the hermit came up behind me, “Ye little clowns,” said I, “have ye no mouths any longer? Could ye not even now prate away long enough with my father (for so must I call my hermit)? I see well enough that ye are driving away the gaffer’s sheep and burning of his house: wait awhile and I will quench your fire for ye,” and with that rose up to fetch water, for there seemed to me present need of it. Then said the hermit, who I knew not was behind me: “Whither away, Simplicissimus?” “O father,” says I, “here be more soldiers that will drive off sheep: they do take them from that poor man with whom though didst talk: and here is his house a-burning, and if I quench it not ’twill be consumed”: and with that I pointed with my finger to what I saw. “But stay,” quoth the hermit, “for these figures be not alive;” to which I, with rustic courtesy, answered him: “What, beest thou blind? Do thou keep watch lest that they drive the sheep away while I do seek for water.” “Nay,” quoth he again, “but they be not alive; they be made only to call up before out eyes things that happened long ago.” “How;” said I, “thou didst even now talk with them: how then can they be not alive?” At that the hermit must, against his will and contrary to his habit, laugh: and “Dear child,” says he, “these figures cannot talk: but what they do and what they are, that can I see from these black lines, and that do men call reading. And when I this do read, thou conceivest that I speak with the figures: but ’tis not so.”

Yet I answered him: “If I be a man as thou art, so must I likewise be able to see in these black lines what thou canst see: how then may I understand thy words? Dear father, teach me in truth how to understand this matter.”

So said he: “ ’Tis well, my son, and I will teach thee so that thou mayest speak with these figures as well as I: only ’twill need time, in which I must have patience and thou industry.”

With that he wrote me down an alphabet on birchbark, formed like print, and when I knew the letters, I learned to spell, and thereafter to read, and at last to write better than could the hermit himself; for I imitated print in everything.

Edited by Caroline Butler

* Lit., "Bohemian Villages," i.e. with unpronounceable names. [Goodrick's note]
* William, Duke of Aquitaine, and afterwards a Saint noted for the acerbity of his penance. [Goodrick's note]
* A proverb: on Saint Gertrude's day spinning ceases and garden-work begins. [Goodrick's note]
¹Paternoster, also called the Lord’s Prayer, or the Our Father, is a prayer that was taught by Jesus to his disciples. It is the principle prayer used by Christians in common worship. The hermit’s is a faithful recitation of the Paternoster. “Lord’s Prayer,” Encyclopedia Britannica Online, http://search.eb.com/bol/topic?eu=50123&sctn=1#s_top  [Accessed 14 February 2002]
² “Of the Soul,” or De Anima, was written by Aristotle. It gives a general account of the nature of the soul’s cognitive faculties. It is, essentially, a metaphysical analysis of the mind and the soul.  Cambridge Dictionary of Philosophy, (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 7
³ Averroes, or ibn Rushd (Averroes is the Latinized version), was a principal Islamic philosopher during the 12th century. He was the author of a number of commentaries on the works of Aristotle, and during the 13th century many of his commentaries were translated from Arabic to Latin. Since his death, he has been thought of as the commentator on Aristotle.  Leaman, Oliver. Averroes and His Philosophy, (Oxford : Clarendon Press ; New York : Oxford University Press, 1988).
⁴Cicero, full name Marcus Tullius Cicero, born 106 B.C. in Arpinium Latium, was a Roman statesman, lawyer, scholar, and writer who was a strong proponent of Republican principles. His repertoire included works of rhetoric, orations, philosophical and political treatises, and letters.  “Cicero, Marcus Tullius,” Encyclopedia Britannica Online  http://search.eb.com/bol/topic?eu=84794&sctn=1  [Accessed 14 February 2002]
⁵ “Tusculan Disputations,” originated as a series of lectures given by Cicero, which he later put into book form. It approaches the question of happiness as it relates to the soul, and considers the nature of the soul, more specifically, the immortality of the soul. According to this work, the soul is divine and outlasts its physical limitations.  Petersson, Torsten. Cicero, a biography, (New York, Biblo and Tannen, 1963).